


Promises

by flashrevolver



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, It's sadder than I meant it to be but thats life babey, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13115085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashrevolver/pseuds/flashrevolver
Summary: This matches the prompts "candles" and "midnight". There's more angst than fluff, which I hope is okay, because with these characters angst just works its way in no matter what you do.





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheTrickyOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTrickyOwl/gifts).



There were hushed whispers around the base about Jesse. According to some, he got kicked out. According to others, he left willingly. Each rumor came in different flavors and colors, and each rumor grew more distorted the longer it circulated. It’s likely the truth floated around, too, but Jesse McCree was the only man who knew that truth, and he wasn’t around to tell anyone.

Gabe figures his version of the truth is as close as anyone will get. Jesse left because he was tired. Tired of what? He doesn't know. That’s not to say his brain hasn’t provided plenty of painful options to choose from—tired of war, tired of underground operations, tired of pretending to be the good guy. And of course there was Gabe’s brain’s personal favorite option, the one it liked to dwell on in the early morning hours. That Jesse was tired of Gabe. That maybe he was tired of being so close to his commander, and tired of the knowing glances from other agents, and tired of lying through his teeth to the U.N. about the nature of their relationship. If that was true, then it meant everything was Gabe’s fault—not that he wasn’t used to blaming himself for things.

“I’m in Santa Fe,” the note had read. There was no envelope, no signature, no preface. Gabe’s gut knew before his head did. The note had fallen out of Gabe’s daily stack of mail on a less-than-peaceful afternoon two months after Jesse left, and all it took was a glance at the curvy handwriting for Gabe’s stomach to sink.

It took an hour of paperwork and two days of planning, but he got a weekend off. Nobody questioned his motives—and if they did, nobody said a word. Not many agents made a habit of questioning Commander Reyes’s motives.

Santa Fe is dry and arid when Gabriel arrives, even though it’s December and there are traces of snow sticking to the grass. He checks his watch—11:15—and shakes his head, jet-lag and a 6 hour time difference suddenly catching up to him. Now that he’s standing in the cold dark of this New Mexico town, everything is too real. It could be a trap, and Gabe is all too aware of that fact. He knew when he got the note that there was a fifty percent chance it wasn’t Jesse, that it was a lie or a trap, and he came anyway, with no hesitation. High risk, high reward.

Gabe knows exactly where to go. Jesse had shown him once, during one of Blackwatch’s missions in Albuquerque. It was a church, long abandoned, at the end of a long stretch of road leading away from town. He walks. It’s a slow trip, but he doesn’t mind. He knows that whatever is waiting for him at this church, he needs time to prepare himself. And so he walks, past flickering street lights and silent stucco homes, and then past the bustling late-night life of downtown Santa Fe, street vendors and the occasional barhopper. 

It takes him almost exactly 45 minutes to reach the church—far faster than it should’ve, because once he’s out of view he allows himself to shift into wraith form and zip through the shadows. It’s far past the light of town, but there’s a dim glow coming from inside. Gabe sucks in a breath. He doesn’t knock.

When he pushes open the door carefully there’s movement in a corner pew, and Gabe realizes it’s a gun pointed straight at him.

“Jesse,” he says quietly, and the gun is lowered, revealing Jesse McCree’s tired, confused face.

“Gabe?” he mumbles, and Gabe doesn’t answer, only stands there and lets the question answer itself. There are candles in the windows, and propped on the backs of pews, and littering the wooden floor. Gabe wonders how long it’s been since this place had working electricity.

Jesse’s hair is cropped short, even shorter than it had been in the early days of Blackwatch. His facial hair looks like it was shaved, but hasn’t been maintained since then for a week or so. It makes sense that he’d be undercover here, especially with the new members of Deadlock, clumsily risen from the ashes of their predecessors, and looking for a face they’d only seen in pictures.

Jesse stands slowly, assessing the situation warily before stumbling his way to Gabriel and throwing his arms around him tightly. Gabe responds poorly at first, standing stock-still and trying to process that yes, Jesse was here and yes. Jesse was alive and no, this wasn’t a trap, and his gut was right. He hugs Jesse back slowly, melting against him comfortably, and Jesse grabs him even tighter, fists balling into the back of Gabe’s jacket and holding him hostage.

“You know this doesn’t mean I’m going back with you,” Jesse says quietly. 

“I know,” Gabe responds.

“Then why are you here?”

“Because you’re here.”

When Jesse pulls away his eyes are red and wet, and he wipes them once with the back of his hand, smearing tears across his face.

“I didn’t think you’d come. I just figured that you’d—you’d wanna know where I am.”

Gabe feels anger bubble up inside him, and dampens it enough not to yell.

“You didn’t think I’d come? You vanish without a trace, leave me no way to contact you, I don’t know if you’re dead or alive. You send me a damned note that just says, ‘I’m in Santa Fe,’ then you better goddamn well expect to see me in Santa Fe.”

Jesse sinks into a church pew, eyes squinted.

“Forgive me if you haven’t exactly given me any foreshadowing that you still give a shit about me. All the stuff with that doctor, and, and just everything. Feels like you left me way before I left.”

It’s like a dagger in Gabe’s heart. He wants to grab Jesse by the shoulders and shake sense into his head. He wants to yell until he’s hoarse.

“Jesse,” he says levelly. “None of that had anything to do with you.”

“Exactly.” Jesse laughs bitterly. “I said you were going too far, I said you were gonna regret it. I said if you didn’t stop I was fuckin’ leavin’ and look where we are now.”

“There are some things that—that I can’t really control Jesse, I’ve told you this. I don’t know what you expected me to do. I told you multiple times that—”

“Yeah, whatever, I’ve heard this dozens of times. But face it, Gabe,” Jesse mutters. “You got distant. You started running things in ways I didn’t agree with. In ways you wouldn’t have agreed with a month prior. You changed, and I’m not convinced it was for the better.”

Gabe clenches his fists, but sighs. 

“I don’t want to argue,” he says, closing his eyes, “That’s not why I’m here.”

Jesse folds his arms, another stray tear falling.

“Okay,” he obliges through his teeth. “Then why are you here?”

Truthfully, Gabe already got the answer to his question. He was here because he wanted to know if he was the reason Jesse left. Now he knows. But that’s not the only reason, and they both know it.

“I just—” Gabe trips on the words. “I just wanted to see you. I wanted to know you’re safe.”

Jesse finally turns his head back toward Gabe, hurt written all over his face, and nods. 

“Come here,” he says quietly, and Gabe goes. He sits down next to Jesse, pressing their thighs close.

When Jesse turns and kisses him, it feels like nothing’s wrong. It feels just like their first kiss, full of promise and desire. As their lips move and their tongues explore familiar territory, Gabe can pretend that the past three months hadn’t happened, that they had never grown apart, that Jesse had never left. That Gabe had never made the mistake that pushed him away. Jesse crawls into his lap, thick thighs straddling his own, and Gabe decides to let go. He decides to give into the familiar warmth of Jesse and forget about everything. Just for a night.

...

As clothes fall and candles illuminate two rolling bodies, everything is quiet save for Jesse’s soft moans and Gabe’s breathy pants. They fit together like they were built for each other, and maybe they were. Maybe Jesse doesn’t see—or maybe just doesn’t care—when Gabe seizes and cries Jesse’s name, and for a split second fades up into black smoke and then bounces back, like a horrifying frame hidden in a glowy, romantic film. 

The two men lie there afterward, limbs tied together and twitching in aftershocks, eyes closed in warm drowsiness, hands kneading biceps and shoulder blades. They mumble reassurances, tongues loose from love and lust.

“When am I gonna see you again?” Gabe asks tenderly.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to.”

“Am I ever gonna see you again?”

“Yes,” Jesse replies surely. “I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“I never make promises I can’t keep, Reyes.”


End file.
